Thursday, April 10, 2008

Agent Hanson and I were crawling through an airshaft, the entrance of which is located on Lincoln’s nose on Mount Rushmore. We weren’t sure exactly where it was taking us, but we were certain it would be trouble.

“Airshaft’s kind of long,” I huffed as I low crawled through it. “You’re lucky you can fit through more easily.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she shot back quickly.

“I just mean you’re a little smaller than me,” I replied. “And you can fit through a tight space like an airshaft better than I can.”

“Don’t you start crap with me,” she growled. “Nothing I’ve ever done had been easier, don’t think this is too.”

“Whoa whoa, I’m not saying you’ve got it easy or anything,” I replied (hopefully) disarmingly. “I’m just talking is all.”

“Well maybe you should only say something if you think it’s necessary.”

“Fine, I gotcha,” I said. “I’ll only say something if I think it’s absolutely, positively, 100 percent, A number 1, super important you gotta know it necessary. I know some people who will just talk and talk, they babble and babble and babble on and on and on about the dumbest stuff ever. Not me though, I only say stuff when I know it’s important. I’m like the strong, silent type. Like John Wayne, only I think he was taller.”

“Would you shut! Up!” she yelled.

Suddenly, there was a creak, a groan and we plummeted through the thin metal and onto the cold floor below.

“Well that was fun,” I said as I picked myself up and dusted off my arms and hands.

Hanson and I were interrupted by about a dozen clicking noises. You know that clicking when a cartridge is being slammed into the bolt of an automatic rifle? Yeah, clicking like that. I looked around and realized that we were smack dab in the middle of a snake den.“Hi, I’m Joe Krackow from Krackow Heating and Air Conditioning,” I said. “We were, uh, just inspecting your system here and—”

“FBI, don’t move, you’re all under arrest!” Agent Hanson shouted as she drew her pistol.

Instantly, the rifles trained on her.

“I don’t think we got the drop on ‘em,” I said as I raised my hands and stole a glance at the hole in the ceiling.

“Take their weapons,” an officer commanded.

Hanson glowered angrily as she surrendered her sidearm. One of the troopers grabbed Betsy and Winona from their holsters.

“Nice rayguns, spaceman,” he laughed as he twirled them around on his fingers.

“Shut up,” I replied.

“I wouldn’t get too mouthy,” he warned as he pressed one of the pistols against my cheek. “Unless you’re looking for another hole in your head.”

“And do most microwave ovens have harpoon guns attached to them?” the officer sneered at me. At least it seemed kind of like a sneer, he was wearing a mask over his mouth. “Give me that.”

He unhooked it from my arm and tore it away. Inspecting it more closely, he looked it over, finally deciding to try one of the buttons. He was rewarded for his effort with a powerful shock that knocked him to the floor.

“Sorry,” I shrugged. “It’s got an antitheft system on it.”

“Pick that thing up!” the officer ordered one of his troops as he picked himself up. The troop complied and carefully picked it up, holding it with his thumb and forefinger by a strap. “Take these two to Colonel Scar now.”

We were herded into a command center where a jackbooted officer stood over a row of technicians at their stations.

“Well, what do we have here?” he asked as he looked at the two of us.

“We caught them snooping around, Colonel,” the officer said, still rubbing his hand from the shock.

“And who might you two be, eh?” Colonel Scar’s eyebrow lifted just a bit.

“Agent Audrey Hanson, FBI,” Hanson announced.

“Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, uh, Intergalactic Gladiator,” I added. “I have to tell you, that’s pretty amazing how your name is Scar and you have a scar. How’d your parents know that was gonna happen? That’s like Lou Gehrig getting Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Seriously, what are the chances of that?”

“Silence!” The Cobra colonel barked. “I will show you what we do to spies like you. Were they alone?”

“As far as we can tell,” the officer acknowledged. “We still haven’t heard back from one of the outside guards though.”

“I don’t think you’re going to hear from him,” Hanson answered. “He took a long trip off a short cliff.”

“Now who’s making the yucks?” I asked. “Though I would’ve attempted to phrase that differently. He might infer that it wasn’t as long of a fall as it actually was.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to consult with you before I make one of these lines,” the FBI agent shot back sarcastically.